


Discworld Flash Fiction 2005

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: Discworld - Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-09
Updated: 2005-09-09
Packaged: 2017-10-05 19:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are four short pieces I wrote on LJ in 2005 when I was deeply in need of a kick up the rear inspirationally.</p><p>Dedicated to Chriss, Spam, Anna, and Ryan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discworld Flash Fiction 2005

**Author's Note:**

> Discworld characters belong to Terry Pratchett.

**Death, Reg Shoe and a Chess board. **

'Checkmate!'

Death examined the board. THAT IS NOT MATE, he said eventually.

'Yes it is! See -- this bishop, and that castle, and my queen, and you're pinned!' Reg gesticulated eagerly, losing several fingernails.

BUT THAT ISN'T A CASTLE, said Death. THAT'S YOUR LEFT HAND. IT DROPPED OFF. IT'S NOT ACTUALLY A PLAYING PIECE.

Reg attempted to hide the stump of his left arm under the table, grinning ingratiatingly. This was what always happened when you tried to cheat Death. He invariably caught you out.

* * *

**Susan, Teatime, and flatulence. (THIS ought to get interesting).**

Susan looked up from Twyla's latest woeful attempt at writing (the girl could put more loops on the heads and tails of letters than Susan had ever seen) and sighed.

'You're not supposed to be here,' she said.

Teatime's ghost gestured grandiosely. 'But here I am,' it said.

Susan stood up and grabbed the poker out of the scuttle by the fire. 'And you'd better leave, right now, before SOMEONE notices you're not where you're supposed to be.'

'I will walk this mortal coil as long as I want! Your poker doesn't scare me, flesh and blood woman!'

Susan hefted the poker and concentrated. A shimmering blue light appeared at the tip of the poker and crawled its length until the whole thing was glowing, except where she gripped it.

'Go,' she said simply. 'Your words mean nothing here, you piece of ectoplasmic flatulence. You're just an imaginary bottom burp.' She tried to keep from giggling at herself; the children were a bad influence on her sometimes.

Teatime's ghost gulped and vanished. Susan replaced the poker -- which was a perfectly ordinary poker -- where it belonged, and sat back down.

After all, it was belief that counted.

* * *

**The Watch. Tiredness. **

Bump. Bump. Bump.

She was meant to have her feet on the ground if she was walking, wasn't she? Angua flailed, hit something that yelped, and realised Carrot was carrying her.

'Wazzgoinon?'

'You fell asleep in the buffet.'

'At the buffet?'

'No, _in _the buffet.'

Angua closed her eyes. It was easier that way. She could feel a large smear of something the consistency of undercooked chocolate pudding on her cheek, and was not surprised when, the next morning, it turned out to be undercooked chocolate pudding. ''s I drunk?'

'You weren't drunk. Just tired. Three days of partying will do that to anyone.'

_Except you_, Angua thought. _Because when the rest of us all drop, you'll keep going. Solid, reliable Carrot!_

_Now bloody well put me down._

'Vimes had to take Sybil home two hours ago,' Carrot went on. 'She kept patting Cheri on the head and saying 'good kitty', and that can get on anyone's nerves after a while.'

'Ufff,' Angua agreed, a jawbreaking yawn splitting her face in half.

Something went _glink_. Something soft was holding her up. Sleep. Ummm. Sleep was good.

* * *

**The Bursar &amp; The Librarian - Floor Polish**

The Bursar couldn't stop himself laughing. The sight of an orang-utan flailing about, all arms and legs and fur, as he skidded down the heavily polished corridor, was rather amusing.

The _crack _as the back of the Bursar's head connected with the wall, on the other hand, wasn't.

Two furry paws clutched his collar; the Librarian gave him an interrogative and accusatory '_Oook_?'.

'I-I didn't make the floor slippery,' the Bursar stammered. 'And I didn't mean to laugh, honest...' He managed to grope a banana out of his pocket and held it up between himself and the furious ape. 'Here... please accept this as my apology...'

_Thud_. He hit the floor, and then promptly skidded several yards when the Librarian shoved him in the back before wandering off with the banana.

The Bursar sighed with relief. Some people -- apes -- could be so touchy.

 


End file.
